


Reprieve

by feedmyflame



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feedmyflame/pseuds/feedmyflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon likes to remember. (Humanity-off!Elena.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprieve

Damon remembers what it’s like.

He remembers the freedom of sensation, the thrill of gluttony. The high of the kill. He feels it buzzing on Elena’s skin when she drapes it against his. He hears it rushing through the veins that line her insides, fast and good, so good, and he smells it on the cheek still dripping with her prey. (Rest in peace.)

He likes to remember.

Damon wants to feel good, and he wants Elena to feel good, and the girl’s dead anyway, nothing to be done about it now. She’s dead and Elena’s high and wild, wet even, long before he touches her. And when he holds Elena still by the hair, watching the blood drip down her jagged smile, he almost remembers how good the last drop tastes.

It makes his dick hard just thinking about it.

“Wait,” he tells her, “wait,” and she pauses with a smile. She’ll listen to him when it pleases her. It pleases her, right now, to see him drunk with the smell of the blood on her face, and it pleases her more when he pulls it close.

It pleases her most, oh God how it pleases her, when he runs his tongue through the rivers of B-positive and catches the side of her mouth in the process.

“Does this mean you’re going to stop lecturing me?” She says it through a wolfish grin he doesn’t want to look at, and he buries himself in her neck so he doesn’t have to. He shuts out her emptiness and fills himself instead with the flow of her skin, how it drapes over her bones and tenses against his mouth and tastes like sweat and dirt and the lingering essence of her conquest.

He can give her this, and she can take it and laugh, and maybe not kill anyone else tonight.

When she grabs his hair and pulls him off her he’s petrified for half a second that she’ll throw him aside, bored of him already, still hungry and too impatient to let him drown himself between her legs. His love could well bore her. It won’t get her fed and she can’t return it—it doesn’t touch her.

The sigh of relief he breathes when she throws him, instead, onto the ancient carpet, is muffled by her thighs as she settles herself on top of him.

Cold chuckles and gasps dance around them as his tongue slides between her, over and over, until he can’t hear a thing. She tastes the same. Thick and heady enough to mute the difference in her voice. He slides his hand along her thigh and she rocks forward, closes her eyes, breathes like an animal, cruel, greedy; she orders him to speed up, and it takes a second barked order to break through his haze.

“Faster,” she breathes, and grabs his gentle hands. She places them on her hips and tells him how to hold her. He’s doing it wrong, all wrong; she needs him harder, rougher.

When he finally hears her, digs his fingers into her sides so hard he almost breaks the skin, she comes like she hasn’t been touched in weeks.

She rolls off his face and onto her feet in one motion, leaving him to catch his breath on the floor as the world comes rushing back in.

*

Two minutes later, the taste of her mingles with blood on his lip as he bites into it, jerking himself off in the shower. 

He angles his face away so the water doesn't reach it.


End file.
